I hear there are people who actually enjoy moving. Sounds like a disease to me - they must be unstable. Though it does have its poetry, I’ll allow that. When an old dwelling starts looking desolate, a mixture of regret and anxiety comes over us and we feel like we are leaving a safe harbour for the rolling sea - Jan Neruda

I'm sitting on one of the cats' blankets on the floor of my very empty flat. Everything echoes. I just sneezed (it's the dust) and I think I woke up the whole building.

Yesterday was a particularly stressful day. The removal men arrived on Thursday evening and popped up to say "hello". And to assess the work that awaited them. They were dismayed. So then was I. It would not be possible to fit everything into the lorry. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattt?! Their "well, we'll see" was not even vaguely reassuring. My stress levels were already up there. The night was going to be long.

When I went out later, I was dismayed. To say the least. The "lorry" - which I was told would likely be the equivalent of 3-4 car lengths - looked a good deal smaller. Now, I am the first to admit that I have absolutely no concept of space. But I had to agree with them: we were going to need a bigger van.

But these guys were seriously professional. Nick and Connor. Monkey Removals. I don't know how they did it. But they did. With a little encouragement from me and my friends. Coffee at 7am. Croissants, ham and cheese at 8am courtesy of Camping Chum. Moral support at 9am from a couple of other friends. Although it was all in French and Russian, so I'm not sure they got it. And even chicken sandwiches at midday. Prepared by my very own hands. A feat for a vegetarian with an aversion to handling meat...

And so my furniture is on its way. I remain here with a suitcase and the cats. And lots of calming Feliway and drugs for the journey. For them, not me. Unfortunately. My weekend will be full of cleaning and goodbyes. But the excitement mounts. And I can't stop smiling.